Prim of 12
by BigDogLTD
Summary: What if Prim , unopposed , was picked as the contender of the 74th Hunger Games?  And what if Katniss was finally caught hunting?    This AU will cover these questions and more .   This is


When I wake up, the other side of the bed is toasty warm. Having constant nightmares of today, I went into bed with my mother, although worn yet younger looking in her slumber. People have said to she was once very beautiful. As I hear a loud wailing sound, I quickly swing my legs off the bed and changed into my clothes . From the tasty aromas emanating from downstairs I can only guess Katniss made herself breakfast. It's so early in the morning that I can only imagine one reason: my sister went hunting much earlier than usual to escape into the woods with Gale . I scamper down stairs only to see my mother, glancing at the only family photo taken by the Capitol Census with a stream of tears falling down from her eyes and not her worn face.

Where is my sister, I screamed in my head. Worry became a part of my being that very morning, even Buttercup's nestling of his face into my leg to assure , to calm me . But his touch, which so calmed me down in the past did not deter my sadness , my anger. I could only assume the worst .I needed no words from my mother to realize the inevitable. My sister , Katniss Everdeen ,was caught hunting.

You see, by Capitol Law, anyone who is caught hunting outside the District's borders is to be beaten or executed . But then my mind shifts to her best friend, Gale Hawthorne .Being only two years her senior , Gale shared many things in common with her ,hunting and hatred of the Capitol. Every Sunday , I worry immensely about their well being because the risks of being caught would not only put them into danger , but us as well.

I would personally never go outside the borders and risk it. Taking the life of another living being has never appealed to me, only the maintaining and company of one has . That time I spent on my first hunting trip with my sister and Gale just proved I'd never be the one to provide like she can . If she is punished for this , our family will be as  
>good as dead.<p>

My part of District 12, nicknamed the Seam, is usually crawling with coal miners heading out to the morning shift at this hour. Miners, men and women alike , arrive in the morning physically as well as mentally broken with hunched shoulders and sunken faces . They even stopped cleaning themselves from the coal dust figuring what is the use of washing if the end result is to end up even more in pain and brokenness. But today the black cinder streets are empty. Shutters on the squat gray houses are closed. The reaping isn't until two. May as well sleep in. If you can.

In our district if you are caught hunting you are about as good as dead. They do not give mercy , no understanding. There were times I wanted to shout my hatred of the Capitol to the entire world , but knowing my sister's track record of spouting such things , I'd probably risk what is left of our family into the slaughterhouse ,so to speak. So thus, my mouth is sewn shut for the testament of time, killing the breath of my dissent to focus on the homeward . Simple things.

Where my sister would hunt , I would milk my goat Lady. Now since I am now alone in the world , for my mom has been dead to us for awhile , it is frankly only me against the world. I hope to the skies above that I will not be reaped. It will kill what is remaining inside of my mom.

On the table, under a wooden bowl to protect it from hungry rats and cats alike, sits a perfect little goat cheese wrapped in basil leaves. The gift that was for my sister Katniss. I put the cheese carefully in my pocket as I begin to slip outside…

"Prim, please don't leave right now. "my mother says. " I need you to get ready for the reaping!"

To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes.

"Your dress? Are you sure?" I ask. I'm trying to dissuade her from me wearing her beautiful untainted dress. Her clothes from her past are very precious to her.

"Of course. Since your sister is not here to wear the dress, I want you to be the one to wear it. Please do it me," she says. I let her towel-dry it and braid it up on my head. I love the sight I see in the cracked mirror.

"You look beautiful," says my mother.

"I love it ," I say. I hug her, because I know these next few hours will be terrible for her. My first reaping. But she's worried about me. That the unthinkable might happen.

My sister would always be there to protect me in every way she could, but since she's gone ,it's only me and my mother now. I'm now even more so powerless against the reaping than ever before . The anguish Katniss always felt when I was in pain welled up in her chest and although my sister never showed it , she was about to cry. That the inevitable might happen.  
>We drink milk from my goat and eat the rough bread made from the tessera grain, although no one has much appetite anyway since Katniss' demise.<p>

* * *

><p>At one o'clock, we head for the square. Attendance is mandatory unless you are on death's door. This evening, officials will come around and check to see if this is the case. If not, you'll be imprisoned.<p>

It's too bad, really, that they hold the reaping in the square — one of the few places in District 12 that can be pleasant. Surrounded by shops where the middle class of our fractured society make their daily living. On public market days, especially when there's good weather, it has a holiday feel to it. But today, despite the bright banners hanging on the buildings, there's an air of grimness. Camera crews perched on the top of the buildings record our every move , so not even a second is wasted to revel and mock at our misery.

People file in silently and sign in. The reaping is a good opportunity for the Capitol to keep tabs on the population as well. Twelve- through eighteen-year-olds are herded into roped areas marked off by ages, the oldest in the front, the young ones, like me, toward the back. Where my mother is at, other family members line up around the perimeter, holding tightly to one another's hands. Some even come there to bet on who will be picked or if they will break down and cry. I cannot bear that as I have too much on my mind if I was picked so I tune it out by thinking about my goat and my cat at my house. Where things used to be be so simple. My sister used to risk her life and freedom for to put food on our and every other person's table . Even the Peacekeepers stationed here would buy some off of her . For everybody ,regardless if they were born here or not, is starving.

Two of the three chairs were filled with Mayor Undersee, who's a tall, balding man, and Effie Trinket, District 12's escort, fresh and absolutely hideous with her fake look . That's all I've heard about them. My sister told me I should hate them , but how can I ? They are human ,too . Or at least that was how I used to believe about them.

Just as the town clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's the same story every year. He tells of the history of Panem, the country that rose up out of the ashes of a place that was once called North America. He lists the disasters, the droughts, the storms, the fires, the encroaching seas that swallowed up so much of the land, the brutal war for what little sustenance remained. The result was Panem, a shining Capitol ringed by thirteen districts, which brought peace and prosperity to its citizens. Then came the Dark Days, the uprising of the districts against the Capitol. Twelve were defeated, the thirteenth obliterated. The Treaty of Treason gave us the new laws to guarantee peace and, as our yearly reminder that the Dark Days must never be repeated, it gave us the Hunger Games.

The rules of the Hunger Games are simple. In punishment for the uprising, each of the twelve districts must provide one girl and one boy, called tributes, to participate. The twenty-four tributes will be imprisoned in a vast outdoor arena that could hold anything from a burning desert to a frozen wasteland. Over a period of several weeks, the competitors must fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins.

Taking the kids from our districts, forcing them to kill one another while we watch — this is the Capitol's way of reminding us how totally we are at their mercy. How little chance we would stand of surviving another rebellion.

"It is both a time for repentance and a time for thanks," intones the mayor.

Then he reads the list of past District 12 victors. In seventy-four years, we have had exactly two. Only one is still alive. Haymitch Abernathy, a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at this moment appears hollering something unintelligible, staggers onto the stage, and falls into the third chair. He's drunk. Very. The crowd responds with its token applause, but he's confused and tries to give Effie Trinket a big hug, which she barely manages to fend off.

The mayor looks distressed. Since all of this is being televised, right now District 12 is the laughingstock of Panem, and he knows it. He quickly tries to pull the attention back to the reaping by introducing Effie Trinket.

Bright and bubbly as ever, Effie Trinket trots to the podium and gives her signature, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor!" Her pink hair must be a wig because her curls have shifted slightly off-center since her encounter with Haymitch. She goes on a bit about what an honor it is to be here, although everyone knows she's just aching to get bumped up to a better district where they have proper victors, not drunks who molest you in front of the entire nation.

Through the crowd, I spot Gale looking back at me with a ghost of a smile. As reapings go, this one at least has a slight entertainment factor. But suddenly I am thinking of Gale and his forty-two names in that big glass ball and how the odds are not in his favor. Not compared to a lot of the boys. And maybe he's thinking the same thing about me because his face darkens and he turns away. "But there are still thousands of slips," I wish I could whisper to him.

It's time for the drawing. Effie Trinket says as she always does, "Ladies first!" and

Snacking on a piece of cheese I meant to give to my sister, I eagerly await to hear the drawing of the two tributes. Effie Trinket comes to the podium and says the usual stuff and then announces the male tribute .

"Peeta Mellark!"

Walking to the stage ,he gives me a look of recognition and I glance back in pity. Did he heard the news of my sister's arrest? Guess it spread like wildfire.

She then crosses to the glass ball with the girls' names. She reaches in, digs her hand deep into the ball, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd draws in a collective breath and then you can hear a pin drop, and I'm feeling nauseous and so desperately hoping that it's not me, that it's not me, that it's not me.

My mind would not be prepared for the next words uttered from that lady's mouth,

"Prim Everdeen!"

She said my name….. I am surely dead ….

Shaking to the stage I whimper , almost about to break in tears , but with the hand of Peeta's on my shoulder and the cameras onto my every move , a warm energy passes through my body. I feel like I can do anything.

I hold back the tears and hold my composure, even smiling like this is the best time of my life.

But inside , I feel like I've died.


End file.
